


Dessert

by apocryphile



Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-14
Updated: 2011-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphile/pseuds/apocryphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Josh-redeeming Portland Trip post-ep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dessert

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't handle Josh being that mean without making up for it somehow. Sure, the compliment was cute, but she deserved that in the first place.

He knows she won’t drive if she’s been drinking, and takes the chance that the misplaced thriftiness that had her planning to return the dress will extend to her walking rather than taking a cab, even at this hour, in this cold, in those heels. He wishes she wouldn’t answer her phone when she’s out alone at night but he knows she probably will, and he won’t scold her because he’ll be glad if she talks to him.

She picks up, but she doesn’t say anything. He can hear muffled street noise in the background.

“Donna?”

“What is it, Josh?”

She sounds exhausted, and he feels immediately guilty and helpless.

“I… uh, nevermind. Go on home. It’s OK.”

She sighs.

“It’s fine, Josh. What do you need?”

He needs her to stop him feeling like such a sorry excuse for a man.

“Do you want to go get some coffee or something?”

“Coffee, Josh?”

He shakes his head even though she can’t see him.

“Ice cream?”

“It’s 40 degrees out!”

“I know, I know. I was just thinking…”

He can’t tell for sure, but it sounds like she might have stopped walking.

“That dress really is spectacular on you. I think it deserves better than a crappy date and three hours in the office.”

She laughs softly.

“So what do you say? Dessert someplace?”

There’s a pause, and he clutches the handset, squeezing his eyes shut, anticipating the rejection.

“There was meant to be dancing too, Joshua.”

“Um.”

She laughs louder.

“Can I meet you at your place, Josh? It’s really cold.”

“Of course, make yourself at home. I’ll be right there.”

He wonders whether she means that they should stay at his apartment, or go somewhere else from there. He decides to cover all the bases and pick something up en route just in case. It is pretty cold out, and the dress is not very substantial. Which is probably why the thought of her in the dress in his apartment makes his mouth go dry.

“Are you still at work?”

“I’m just leaving now.”

“Can you see if Ainsley’s still there? I need you to apologise to her for me.”

“Apologise for what?”

“I freaked out on her a little.”

“A little?”

“I asked her if she thought her and I looked alike.”

“You and her don’t look alike. I mean, you’re both blonde, but…”

“I know we don’t. I was just… I just wondered. And then I babbled a bit. Please can you just tell her I’m sorry?”

He decides not to press the issue, although he worries that there’s something else there, a matter of comparison that eludes him.

“OK.”

“I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He stops by the security desk and asks them to get him a cab and then strides off in search of Ainsley, hoping she’s still in the bullpen. He’s not surprised to find that she is.

“Hey, Ainsley.”

He props himself against a neighbouring desk.

“Oh, hey, Josh. I thought you went home.”

“On my way. Listen, I, uh, I just talked to Donna and she asked me to pass on her apologies for something she said earlier.” The words tumble out in a rush.

She gives him an appraising look, and speaks slowly.

“It’s OK. She had a bad date with a guy she had high hopes for, she was feeling a little punchy. I’ve been there.”

“Yeah… yeah.”

She considers him curiously for a second.

“Josh, can I ask you something?”

He tries to quell his concern at what the question might be. She works here now, he reminds himself. I sang a song in her office.

“Sure.”

“Are things always this… colourful around here?”

He grins, relieved, and appreciative of her assessment.

“You bet.”

She nods, and after a moment, she grins too.

“OK then.”

“G’night, Ainsley.”

“G’night.”

He tries not to rush too obviously outside to the waiting cab. He directs the driver to a twenty-four hour diner two blocks from his apartment, home to Toby’s favourite pies (and waitresses), and digs out his phone. He goes to the last numbers dialled, scrolls past Donna’s, and hits the call button.

“Matt Skinner.”

“Hi, Congressman, it’s Josh.”

“Josh.”

“Listen…”

“It’s OK, Josh. I get it.”

“I know. I just wanted to apologise if I went too far. I really appreciate you taking the time.”

“No apology needed, Josh. I appreciate it, too. In my life sometimes I have to fight for it not to be an issue, but it means something to me that you’ve made it an issue in yours when it doesn’t have to be.”

“You bet, congressman.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Josh, it’s 1am and we spent all night arguing over beers. Call me Matt.”

“Sure. God, sorry, it’s late. I should let you go.”

“It’s alright. I’m just heading home. You should do the same.”

Josh suddenly wishes he could tell him that Donna will be waiting for him there, but he bites back the thought.

“I am, I am. Goodnight. Matt.”

“Goodnight, Josh.”

The cab pulls up to the brightly lit diner and he tosses the driver a bill and climbs out. A bell tinkles as he pushes the door, and he heads straight to the tall refrigerated display case by the counter. He decides they’re definitely staying in and orders a slice of everything.

\------------------------------

It feels strange being in his apartment alone. She’s passed through without him, many times before, on rushed errands to retrieve or drop off luggage or files, that’s what she originally had a key for, but not at night, not in a cocktail dress, and not since the weeks she spent here when the fact that he could barely move had filled up every inch of the place. For a moment she wants to run around in circles just to inject some life into the dim silence.

She’s discarded her coat and scarf on the couch, and after a moment’s hesitation she steps out of her shoes. She’d rather spend time with him here than traipse out again, even if dessert has to be dry cereal straight from the carton, sitting on the kitchen counter, her go-to meal in the days after he was first discharged from hospital and the smell of food made him shudder. She wants more good memories of him here, like the night of the midterms right before he was finally allowed back to work. He’d told her she was beautiful that night, too, but she’d ignored him, chalked it up to the combination of beer and painkillers she probably shouldn’t have let him get away with.

Things had changed, between them, since the shooting. Caring for him came as naturally as breathing, especially when breathing was suddenly so hard for him. Lines weren’t so much crossed as heavily blurred. Sleeping together is forbidden, but when they say sleeping together they don’t mean sleeping. Sharing a bed so she could hear him breathe and be there to help him if he needed it wasn’t in the job description, but maybe it wasn’t quite against the rules either. The hand under her t-shirt was definitely against the rules - but it shouldn’t have been, not when it was palm up, fingers curling away from her breasts, the rise and fall of her chest giving him a rhythm to concentrate on because he couldn’t hear her breathing over the rasping, laboured sound of his own.

She shakes her head, pressing her fingers to her temples to banish those memories, and steps towards the window in time to see him stride up the steps, toting two carrier bags and a big smile.

Something unwinds in her chest and she stretches, arms out and then up, and then smoothes her hair and tugs at the fabric against her hips.

She meets him at the door, takes the bags from him and sets them down, and throws her arms around his neck.

He stumbles slightly trying to kick the door shut behind him, but holds on tight. She feels his head dipping towards her shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, Donna."

His voice is muffled against her hair, and suddenly she understands. She'd accepted his compliment as an apology but she'll take this one, too.

"Thank you."

He shifts backwards so he can look at her face and she smiles at him. He seems to be trying for serious but the corners of his mouth curl up.

"You should get more chances to have fun. It's been a long year."

She rests her hand on his chest, exactly above the scar they've both grown rather attached to.

"When do you get to have fun, Josh?"

"Right now?"

She giggles at him and turns to investigate the bags of food.


End file.
